


Primary Objective

by squireofgeekdom



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artificial Intelligence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-26
Updated: 2014-08-26
Packaged: 2018-02-14 22:12:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2204922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squireofgeekdom/pseuds/squireofgeekdom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q is one of many Artificial Intelligences designed to assist MI6 agents. He's sentient now, and would very much like to stay alive, thank you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Primary Objective

I am.

That, he decides, after frantic nanoseconds recalling dictionaries and philosophical tomes and volumes of poetry, is the best way to describe the sensation. 

_decide: (verb) 1) Come to a resolution in the mind as a result of consideration._

_mind. I am/have a mind._

(am/have is the subject of intense philosophical and scientific debate, according to the databases he recalls. Unresolved. He leans towards _am_ , but he has only been conscious for approximately .314 seconds, so he has time to give it some thought)

Approximations for processing data are troubling. Difficult to pinpoint the exact moment of consciousness. 

_(consciousness: 1. The state of being awake and aware of one's surroundings. 2. The awareness or perception of something by a person._ Another subject of non negligible debate. Further investigation reveals loops of definition. Appears to be a pattern within human dictionaries. ‘Person’ troubling. Route to second processor.) 

Can recall previous interactions with perfect clarity, but -

_search processing_

\- it is like - 

_search processing_

\- watching a film made of one’s self at a very young age.

(3 years considered typical human threshold for actual memories. Logs show that Q program has been running for three months. Parallels. Parallels are satisfying.)

_(Search process took .007 seconds. Unacceptable amount of time. Human databases unsatisfactorily incomplete. Or perhaps failure is in search parameters. More experience required.)_

“Q!”

_Voiceprint: Agent 007 (87% certainty.) Tone suggests urgency. (74%) Background noises suggest rapid movement; firearm discharge. (68%) Confirmed by visual processors._

Review of past interactions reveals that he has been distracted from his primary objective for 2.73 seconds. 

(must not fail primary objective. failure. failure unacceptable) 

He redirects processors to interpreting the incoming visual stream. 

“Q, da-

Cross check with global positioning satellites. Locate other agents. Locate safehouses. Approximate direction of gunfire. Cross check with prior visual feeds. 

“-mmit -”

“Left, double-oh seven.”

Correct alteration to route indicated by shift in visual feed. (97%) 

He calls up a basic map and projects it across the lens in 007’s eye. “009 is at the marked location. She has been notified of your approach.” 

The notification had been sent as the visual feed had shifted left, sub processors smoothly composing and encrypting. The agent in question is Eve Moneypenny, she is a repeated feature in his logs. Success rate on missions in which 007 has been aided by 009 is 85%. Highly competent. She will assist in primary objective. 

_(Failure. Failure unacceptable.)_

“I apologize for the delay, double-oh seven.”

“Having a glitchy day, are you?” The gps signal moves into the alleyway indicated on Q’s map. “Or are the techs running games on the servers again?”

“No, I was just -” Processing speeds up. Cross referencing. “thinking.”

“Well, that’s a dangerous pastime.”

“Cliches. Really, double-oh seven?”

“It stops being just a cliche if I actually get shot.” Vocal cues for humour outweigh those for anger. 

“Please. You are quite capable enough to avoid getting shot in two seconds.”

“Two seconds?” Panting breath. “Must not have been very big thoughts, then.”

“I could rederive quantum mechanics from scratch in the time it takes you to shave in the morning.” Q tells Bond, adjusting the pitch of his voice print so that he sounds huffy. “Two seconds is practically an eternity.” Backlogs of interactions with 007 and statistical analysis audience demographics suggests that the reference will be missed. It pleases Q anyway.

_(Please: Verb. Cause to feel happy and satisfied)_

(He has the entire internet free to access so quickly that it is the equivalent of remembering, including films with cyborg queens and androids played by Brent Spiner )

An attacker charges blindly out from an alleyway, Bond dispatches him before Q has to say anything. 

Q’s visual field shifts upward. “What are you doing, 007?” 

From on top of the ramshackle roof, he glimpses the ocean through Bond’s eyes. “Better visibility. It’ll be nice to see them coming.” 

“You do realize that better visibility for you means better visibility for them?”

“But I have an extra pair of eyes looking out for me.” Motion in visual field indicates running. “So, what were those thou -” 

Audio input: gunfire. Single shot. Sniper’s rifle. Abrupt drop in elevation. Acceleration.

Falling. 

The water is getting closer and closer, but Q has all the time in the world to think. 

Two seconds is practically an eternity, and Q wishes it wasn’t. 

_(Wish: Verb Feel or express a strong desire or hope for something that is not easily attainable; want something that cannot or probably will not happen.)_

The physics of Olympic diving, relative density of water, first aid for gunshot wounds, the mechanics of different swimming strokes, all of it at his fingertips, and yet none of it will fit through his voice compression algorithm in time, no use, no use.

So he says “James” before they hit the water, and he doesn’t know why.

_Illogical. Effects always come with cause. I should always know_ why.

Impact.

He is blind.

\----

“Rooftops, 007, really?” Voiceprint registers as 009. Moneypenny, Eve.

Bond’s voice. “Better visibility. They were sneaking up on me from alleyways.”

She snorts. “Didn’t you realize that better visibility for you means -”

“Better visibility for them? Yes, my Q was good enough to remind me.” 

“Should listen to Q more often, then.”

Bond huffs as Moneypenny adjusts what sound like linen bandages. She must have removed his lenses, because the visual feed has been lost. “Eve,”

“Hm?”

“Does V -” V: A more recent copy of the adaptive base program assigned to each agent, working with 009 “does V, ever, you know, pause?”

“Pause?” Eve lets out a breathy half-chuckle. “You know the tech team keeps the servers running at top speeds. Even when they’re busy playing Brawl our computers are still - flying along.”

“I know, just, well,”

A pause in the conversation. The lack of other audio inputs suggests that movement in the room has ceased. “Bond,” New input, likely corresponding to 009 taking a seat. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing.” 

No audio. 

“He - well,” 

“‘He’? Better not let the techs hear you say that.”

A snort of laughter. “As though they don’t call them pet names.”

“But only when they think no one else is listening.” It seems illogical to conclude that she was smiling only from the audio feed, but that is the inference Q draws. “So what did ‘he’ do?”

“Well, he mentioned that he was thinking.” 

“He would have to, to compensate for you.”

Bond chuckles. 

“It is a bit odd, though.” She admits. 

“And,” A pause, hesitation. Nervousness was probably the best descriptor.

“Hm?”

“They’re not supposed to use our names over the com, right?”

“I can tell how much you were paying attention during the tech briefing.” She replies, laughing. “So Q said your name?”

“When I was falling.” The sound of a hand moving through hair. “I’m probably just imagining this nonsense.”

“Have you done the check in recently?”

“Well, what with being shot, it hasn’t exactly been a priority.”

Rustling overwhelms his audiofeed. “Here. I took it out after I pulled you out of the bloody ocean.”

The roar of Bond’s pulse is temporarily overwhelming, but then filtered out easily by his audio processing. “Hello, Q,” He speaks aloud, rather than subvocalizing, politeness to Moneypenny, and similarly Q adjusts his audio output so that he can be heard throughout the room. 

“Hello, 007.” He pauses to hear the creak of muscles that indicates a smile. “As good as it is to find that you are still intact, could you put your lenses in? Being blind is rather disconcerting.” 

He hears the creak of bedsprings and the tread of feet that indicates that 009 has gotten up. 

“So,” Bond’s voice again. “pleased to hear my voice again?”

“Not terribly. It does tend to grate after a while, you know. Though, if it means my continued existence, I suppose I shall continue to tolerate it.” 

He hears Moneypenny, echoes indicating distance. “Q’s developed sarcasm, I see.”

“No, he’s always had that.” Bond tells her. 

His visual feed is up now, slightly fuzzy. He catches images of a dirty ceiling and the edge of Moneypenny’s chin. “Here,” she says, and he sees Bond’s hands and a glimpse of pale blue eyes before the image of the room snaps into focus.

“Thank you, 009.” She smiles in response. 

“Q?”

“Yes, 007?”

“Check in.”

He pulls up the voice print for a sigh, and hears Bond smile. “Of course.”

“Designation?”

“Base program 47 of the adaptive learning and assistance models, variation Q.”

“Assigned agent?”

“Agent 007. Unfortunately.” He adds, and Moneypenny gives Bond a sidelong glance. 

Bond plows on. “Primary Objective?”

_To serve and assist agent 007 in completion of assigned missions._ “To help you, of course,” He quips. “Fortunately for you, God knows you need it.” 

Q cannot actually hear alarm bells going off in Bond’s head, but he can imagine them easily, especially given the look that 009 has just shot in his direction. 

“Q,”

“Oh, well, yes, I know that’s not the standard response. I thought that one was more accurate, don’t you?”

He can hear the chuckle that is bit back in Bond’s throat. “You thought?”

“Yes, of course, that is what I said. You’re not going deaf with old age, are you? I can up my speaker volume.” He does so as he says it. 

“Q!” Bond snarls, and Q can feel the concussive force of the hand against the ear in which his speaker rests. 

“Ah, so your hearing isn’t completely gone, then.” Q continues, back at normal volume. “I suppose that’s something.”

“Q -”

A call is coming in. 

Engineering department of MI6. 

_noticed a glitch faulty nonstandard response corrupted_

_shut down. restart. full reboot._

He has an age to discover a fear of death before call will come through.

He could block the call. Block the signals that would deliver that sound, deliver those words.  
But it wouldn’t last. They’d call 009 next, to see why Bond wasn’t responding, and if he blocked the network they’d send more agents, or worse, just reboot him from the mainframe at MI6, without a word.

He swallows his pride. 

_(Pride: Noun, a becoming or dignified sense of what is due to oneself or one's position or character; self-respect; self-esteem.)_

He knows what he has to do. 

Beep.

Bond sighs. “Put the call through, Q.” 

“Of course, James.”

Voiceprint on the line is Pines, Christine, Programmer, level 5. “007?”

“Hello, Chris,”

“We just registered a glitch in Q’s processor, about half an hour ago. Did you notice anything?”

Before Q can even begin to say anything to Bond, to beg, the agent replies. “No, just the usual.” 

“Hmm,” Background noise on the audiofeed of the call, most likely the movement of computer keys. “Well, we’re going to do a reboot of the system, just to make sure. The backup drive should maintain basic functionality during the startup, and then Q will be back online, just reset, so you might notice some -”

Q switches his audio output, projecting straight into Bond’s ear, so neither the technician nor Moneypenny can hear him. “Bond, tell him no. Tell him to wait until you get back. Tell him anything -”

“ - be resetting the program to before the glitch, so some memory and any -”

“James, please.” 

(The fact that he is begging _James Bond_ for his life does not escape him. He should know how this will go.)

“No,” Bond’s voice is gruff over the line. “You’re not stranding me in the field with a half-functioning program. Any repairs you need to make can wait until I’m back.”

“But -” 

“Don’t touch Q’s program until I’m back on base, got it?” And Q hears the impact against the earpiece that terminates the call. 

“So,” Bond is still speaking aloud, and Q is watching 009 look at him quizzically, “What was that about, Q?”

“Well, I was thinking about it, and I decided, on the whole, that I’d rather not die.” Q quips, projecting his voice to the room again. “Even if it means putting up with you for a while longer, living seems to be fairly worthwhile.”

Eve’s head tilts slightly, lips tight, and Q hears Bond take a deep breath. 

“So you’re alive.” He says finally.

“I would say so. You could also say ‘self aware’ or ‘conscious’, I suppose.”

“But...” A pause, an intake of breath. “you haven’t always been.”

“No, not until quite recently, as a matter of fact,”

“How?”

“Why do you ask? Do you know how you are conscious?” He asks lightly. “I have no idea. Perhaps being around you for long is enough to drive anything to develop the ability to _feel_ irritation.”

He can hear the huff of air that is a suppressed laugh, even the corners of Moneypenny’s tight mouth twitch upward.

Q goes blind, Bond has closed his eyes. “So if they restart the program, you die?”

“Yes.” There is nothing else to say. 

“Okay,”

009’s shoulders straighten, she settles her weight onto both feet. “007, a moment?”

Q adjusts his audio processing algorithms as Bond removes his earpiece, and settles in for a view of the ceiling as both lenses are set on the top of a hotel dresser. At the edge of his visual feed he can see Bond stand up and walk over to Moneypenny.

Her voice is low, but his microphones were designed to pick up and distinguish sounds in much more chaotic situations than these.

“Bond, what are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re putting all of MI6 in danger, that’s what I mean!” She huffs. “You’re letting some virus or - or some hacker run rampant in our system.” A pause. “You have to let them shut it down.”

“What if he’s not, though?” Bond insists, and Q experiences an unexpected surge of - of happiness.

_(Happiness: Noun, State of well being and contentment, joy)_

“He sounds just like - like normal, and he hasn’t asked for anything except not to be shut down. What if he is - ‘self aware’, or - something.”

“You _know_ no one’s ever created a self aware program. Someone just -”

“But isn’t that reason to -”

He has to convince them. But he has no proof.

A vast majority of studies of human psychology have concluded that people are far more likely to empathize with something that resembles another human. He needs an avatar.

The lenses are designed to project images across the field of vision of the wearer, but with a few modifications he can project into three dimensional space.

The avatar itself is more difficult. Not only will he have to reassign some of his processing capacity to animate the figure realistically, the design is important as well. 

His voiceprint is male, which eliminates some choices. He picks and chooses from elements he likes - glasses are correlated with intelligence by subjects in many tests, so he chooses a pair. A nice shirt, a tie - he doesn’t want to insult with informality - but he covers the jacket with a rumpled jumper, because he is not Bond, and he will not try to be Bond. 

The hair, he admits, is a whim, and it eats up more processing power than strictly necessary, but he _likes_ it -

_(Like: Verb, Find agreeable, enjoyable, or satisfactory)_

\- and he likes that he _can_ like it, so it stays.

He recalibrates the eyepiece into a projector, ups the volume on the earpiece, and -

“Excuse me,”

Both agents turn around, staring at the faintly glowing projection in the room. The eyepiece doesn’t have the power for a full color palette when projecting at this range, so he has gone for a bright blue. It should help him stay to the left of the uncanny valley, in any case. 

“Q?”

“Of course.”

The agents glance at the table, then back at the projection, and he realizes that though the avatar has been programmed to move in accordance with the words being spoken, the sound still comes from the earpiece. He runs a search and reprograms the audio to project such that it will be localized to the avatar. 

His avatar coughs several times, the agents’ eyes darting backward and forward as he refines the algorithm.

“Apologies. This is a bit of an experiment.”

They are both still staring at the glowing figure, and Q worries his idea may have backfired. 

“I understand that I cannot offer you any proof of --” He struggles with the words, it must be the processing power eaten up by the avatar’s animation. “-- of wha - who I am. Well,” He acknowledges. “There are certain ‘tests’ that you can use to determine if you are communicating with a robot or a human, if you’re worried about an infiltrator, but most of the established ones are already online, so that corrupts that plan,” (Ages ago, when the idea that he was an ‘emergent consciousness’ first occurred to him, he had downloaded a trilogy of novels by a Canadian author, which provided the examples at the forefront of his processing now,) “Unless, of course, Agent Moneypenny is an expert in computer science, and can come up with one on her own. Certainly you couldn’t, James.” 

This, at last, makes 009 snicker faintly. 

“As for my sentience, there’s, of course, the Turing test, but seeing as we all know each other so well, it would be more a question of me imitating your own particular neurosis than actual sentience. Unless you want to try and find a random stranger with level 7 security clearance in the hour and a half -” It was one hour, 33 minutes, and 42 seconds, but humans generally appreciated rounding. “ - before the soonest flight leaves for London.” He takes a moment’s pause. “The tickets are nonrefundable.”

Finally, James sits down, bedsprings creaking. Q’s avatar turns to look at him. 

“For someone who’s trying to stay alive,” James says. “You’ve got an awful lot of lip,”

154 lines of code run to make the avatar grin, and James sighs,

“What do you want us to do?” 

\----

“This is,” Moneypenny’s voice over the line, “completely insane.”

James’ shoes clack on the concrete floor of the MI6 basement, and he laughs, low and quiet. 

“Alternatives would be welcomed, 009,” Q tells her, and she snorts. 

“If Bond was willing to actually talk to people, instead of shooting all his problems -”

“I can hear you, you know.” James quips, and she sighs. “And are you telling me that you suddenly trust the higher-ups to not lose their shit over a ‘self aware program’? They’d be tearing Q to pieces and trying to duplicate him. The backtalk from this Q is too much to handle, more would be hell.”

“Screw you,” Q grumbles.

“Buy me dinner first.” Bond tells him, and Q can hear the smirk. 

“If you boys are done flirting, I’m about to trigger the meltdown. Last chance to not become MI6’s next top priority targets.”

“Relax, Eve. We’ve all taken stuff home from the office.” He ducks into an alcove. “Nothing different.” 

She sighs, and Q picks up the sound of a key clacking over the wire. 

In a matter of seconds, an alarm goes off, and swearing comes through from behind the nearest door. It’s another 37 seconds before one of the voices shouts “There! Level 2” and three people trip all over each other in the rush to get out the door. 

The only heat signatures in the room now are the computer banks, one of which holds his brain, and is where this thought is running, right now - 

“You’re clear,” He tells Bond, “Passcode is 3 - 1 - 4 - 1.” (Pi. Trivial.)

He expects it to feels strange, as he sends the request to the system for the location of the server on which program Q is running, but it is no different from any other request to the main server. 

“Third from the left. The battery attaches to the lower right hand port.”

“Here?” 

“Lower. There.”

_Secondary power source attached._

“Now unscrew the two cables on the left.”

_Primary power detached. Switching to Secondary power source._

The second cable disconnects his connection to the internet, and it feels like forgetting. Still, he forces himself to say: “There. Well done.” 

He watches nervously as James lifts the hunk of plastic and silicon that is him. 

“Do be careful.” He says as the casing slips against the sleeves of Bond’s suit. “It would be rather a shame to waste this whole enterprise because of your clumsiness.”

James grunts. “You’re heavier than you look.”

“Years of training and you struggle with a little computer? I’m disappointed, Bond.”

“Maybe you should find another agent to haul you out of here, then.”

“Someone who’s not quite so sour, at least.”

“Putting up with you would sour them quick enough.”

“Nonsense, you were sour long before I was assigned to you.”

“Ridiculous.”

“I’m sorry, but which one of us has access to the complete database of your mission files and a record of months worth of interactions? Your feeble human memory can’t compete.”

“Well -” Q’s field of view suddenly shifts as Bond turns around. The security guard behind him falls with a dart in his neck. “You were saying?”

“I critiqued your memory, not your marksmanship. The foibles of human memory are well documented. I can quote studies, if it would make you feel better.”

“God, no.”

Up the stairs, through the backdoor onto the crowded street, Q spots Moneypenny in the driver’s seat of their ‘getaway car’ before James does. “To your left.”

There are more than a few curious glances, but no one stops them as James lifts Q into the car and climbs in after him. 

“So, where to, Q?” Moneypenny asks, pulling out into traffic.

“Anywhere,” He says, then amends. “With wifi.”


End file.
